His Discarded Bride: Lied to from birth. Manipulated into marriage. Does love stand a chance? by Melita Joy Page A
Authors: Melita Joy
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what should have been her right.
“What rights are you talking about,” she remembered asking on more than one occasion.
Never you mind,” her mother shut her down any time she questioned.
Leilani didn’t understand her mother. She’d grown up in Italy not far from Renato’s home in Pontelandolfo. Her mother didn’t talk a great deal about her upbringing but from the snippets she’d gleaned she knew that her mother had done it quite tough. She didn’t finish her education and started work in the local bakery while she was still a young teen.
There had been one night her mother slightly intoxicated had opened up to her. She rarely drank, and the amber liquid must have loosened her lips as she shared a story of a handsome man back home that had once been the love of her life before breaking her heart irreparably. Her mother engrossed in the past let a tear slip. It rolled its way down her weary cheek. It was the first and only time Leilani had seen her mother cry and at that moment she had a heartfelt sympathy for her mum.
Her relationship with her father was even worse. Throughout the years, they would fight terribly yelling at one another, resulting in stinging slaps on the back of her thighs as punishment. Although not close to her mother nothing boiled her blood more than her father’s degradation and insults aimed at his wife. It was worse still when done publicly and always resulted in Leilani coming to her mother’s defence. Mind you for a petite woman her mother could pack a punch and could give back as good as she got.
She could never understand her mother’s commitment to him. In her younger days her mother was quite a petite beauty with long chestnut hair and lovely features she would have had her fair share of admirers. Unfortunately, it seemed her previous Italian lover had left her bitter, mistrustful and detached from allowing love into her life again, instead settling for her father who clearly didn’t make her happy.
Leilani brought herself back to the present and looked at a wedding photo taken a good forty to fifty years ago. The resemblance was there only he was incredibly dashing in a black suit, white shirt and silver tie with his bride. Her gown was modest, a simple lace dress with a fitted bodice and a slight A-line down to her white shoes. The wide brimmed lace bonnet, white choker with gold clasp and white gloves gave the bride a celebrity look.
There were several other photos of unfamiliar people and then she cast her eye on a picture of a young boy. Leilani leaned in to view the child with the familiar green-grey eyes. Those eyes, so distinct and such an unusual shade. Turning to the next photo was the same boy only a few years older and without a doubt she knew who he was.
They both entered at the same time through the two separate living room entrances. The grown up boy burst through the front door and dominated one entry while her elderly host returned through the other door.
She raised her hand to her mouth looking from one to another appalled, genuinely appalled as her mind linked the only possibility together.
CHAPTER NINE
“Dear God,” she uttered. Renato watched her trying to make sense of the situation, “Are you, my brother?”
“Mio dio! No, I’m not your brother,” he could understand how she had come to that conclusion but what sort of a man did she think he was. Even for the sake of the Favalli Empire he would not go so far as incest, it went to show just how little she knew about him.
“Sit down let’s talk,” he directed.
Leilani perched herself on the edge of a lounge chair and clenched the fabric of her new skirt, crushing and creasing it as she waited for clarity. Their deceit knew no bounds, and she wanted answers, would demand them.
It wasn’t Renato that started the explanation it was Vittorio, and he came out with it in the same manner he’d introduced himself, direct and with no preamble. “You are my
“What rights are you talking about,” she remembered asking on more than one occasion.
Never you mind,” her mother shut her down any time she questioned.
Leilani didn’t understand her mother. She’d grown up in Italy not far from Renato’s home in Pontelandolfo. Her mother didn’t talk a great deal about her upbringing but from the snippets she’d gleaned she knew that her mother had done it quite tough. She didn’t finish her education and started work in the local bakery while she was still a young teen.
There had been one night her mother slightly intoxicated had opened up to her. She rarely drank, and the amber liquid must have loosened her lips as she shared a story of a handsome man back home that had once been the love of her life before breaking her heart irreparably. Her mother engrossed in the past let a tear slip. It rolled its way down her weary cheek. It was the first and only time Leilani had seen her mother cry and at that moment she had a heartfelt sympathy for her mum.
Her relationship with her father was even worse. Throughout the years, they would fight terribly yelling at one another, resulting in stinging slaps on the back of her thighs as punishment. Although not close to her mother nothing boiled her blood more than her father’s degradation and insults aimed at his wife. It was worse still when done publicly and always resulted in Leilani coming to her mother’s defence. Mind you for a petite woman her mother could pack a punch and could give back as good as she got.
She could never understand her mother’s commitment to him. In her younger days her mother was quite a petite beauty with long chestnut hair and lovely features she would have had her fair share of admirers. Unfortunately, it seemed her previous Italian lover had left her bitter, mistrustful and detached from allowing love into her life again, instead settling for her father who clearly didn’t make her happy.
Leilani brought herself back to the present and looked at a wedding photo taken a good forty to fifty years ago. The resemblance was there only he was incredibly dashing in a black suit, white shirt and silver tie with his bride. Her gown was modest, a simple lace dress with a fitted bodice and a slight A-line down to her white shoes. The wide brimmed lace bonnet, white choker with gold clasp and white gloves gave the bride a celebrity look.
There were several other photos of unfamiliar people and then she cast her eye on a picture of a young boy. Leilani leaned in to view the child with the familiar green-grey eyes. Those eyes, so distinct and such an unusual shade. Turning to the next photo was the same boy only a few years older and without a doubt she knew who he was.
They both entered at the same time through the two separate living room entrances. The grown up boy burst through the front door and dominated one entry while her elderly host returned through the other door.
She raised her hand to her mouth looking from one to another appalled, genuinely appalled as her mind linked the only possibility together.
CHAPTER NINE
“Dear God,” she uttered. Renato watched her trying to make sense of the situation, “Are you, my brother?”
“Mio dio! No, I’m not your brother,” he could understand how she had come to that conclusion but what sort of a man did she think he was. Even for the sake of the Favalli Empire he would not go so far as incest, it went to show just how little she knew about him.
“Sit down let’s talk,” he directed.
Leilani perched herself on the edge of a lounge chair and clenched the fabric of her new skirt, crushing and creasing it as she waited for clarity. Their deceit knew no bounds, and she wanted answers, would demand them.
It wasn’t Renato that started the explanation it was Vittorio, and he came out with it in the same manner he’d introduced himself, direct and with no preamble. “You are my
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